


Fraternity

by djsoliloquy



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djsoliloquy/pseuds/djsoliloquy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No offense, Auguste,” said Damen, “but I’m starting to think assigning your brother as my little was one of the worst things to happen to either of us.”</p><p> </p><p>Against expectations, frat bros Damen and Auguste become best friends and help each other discover their dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanyart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Yuletide! The suggestion of a university frat AU was too enticing to ignore. Enjoy, and have a wonderful holiday!
> 
> All the thanks to my beta, who held my hair and patted my back through the long night as I brought this into existence.

“Did Rho house want him for chapter president or were they just too afraid to argue?” said Damen.

He had to speak loudly to be heard over the music, but Auguste drew up beside him and followed his gaze across the room. A circle of partygoers crowded around the pong table where an enormous upperclassman in a bedsheet was easily beating a team of two on the other side.

“Govart?” said Auguste with a sigh. “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised. Keep an eye on him around the drinks.”

Damen and Auguste glanced at each other. “Not like you to be late for a party,” said Damen.

“Fashionably late,” Auguste suggested. “That book of plays you lent me, with _Lysistrata_? Fascinating.”

“No kidding. Well, this is my song,” said Damen when the music changed. He adjusted the drape of his own makeshift toga. “Do you think Govart has learned how to dance since last year?”

Auguste caught him by the arm. “Maybe I should handle him. I think he’ll take it better, one…countryman to another.”

“Remember when we met?” said Damen, a little amused. “I drank you to your knees.”

They had already been friends at that point. When they _really_ first met, Damen had toppled Auguste from his throne. As a legacy, Damen hadn’t been concerned about a bid. His family’s ties to the fraternity extended for generations. That was not what his father, advisors, and the platoon of PR reps had prepped him for since he was accepted to university, and in general had been training him for since he was old enough to catch the eye of the press. They weren’t the only family with ties to the fraternity.

Most of what he knew about the heir and pride of the Vere Corporation was based on press articles, heresy, company gossip, and the few times they’d seen each other in passing, always from afar while accompanying their fathers on business. They knew each other on sight, as did everyone else. Their surnames were household words of industry. Auguste was ahead of him in school, already a _de facto_ authority in the house.

Damen and Auguste, rival corporate successors, had faced each other across a field of red plastic cups. It was a rowdy event, early in the year. And part of Damen knew it was social suicide before he did it, but his father’s words were in his ears and he couldn’t stop, not with Auguste sitting there like a king—

He cut through a party and raised his boot to the arm of Auguste’s chair, tipping it over with one sustained push. He didn’t know what he’d expected to happen after, but it wasn’t for Auguste to start laughing. Big, honest laughter that matted his golden eyelashes with tears and had him clutching his middle to catch his breath. And Damen hadn’t expected to laugh with him, or to hold out his hand and help Auguste to his feet. Auguste turned the assist into an embrace, patting Damen’s back with his palm, warm and sure, as though it had always been like this between them.

Auguste smiled at him, and Damen’s world tilted.

They were best friends by the time the drinking contest started.

And now they stood aside, older and wiser, and watched underclassmen drink themselves stupid instead. Auguste raised an eyebrow and let go of Damen’s arm. “I seem to recall you won by a single shot.”

“I seem to recall you volunteered to help clean the house early tomorrow,” Damen countered.  

“Didn’t you as well? And we both have to be up early for soccer.”

“Not until Monday. After which you have to sit in a lecture hall. I can come back to the house, sleep, and continue questioning why I argued so hard to be the stupidly honorable one who had Govart tossed out of the party,” said Damen. Perhaps they weren’t that much wiser. “Auguste, I can beat him.”

“Only if I get to beat him next time.” The edge of Auguste’s mouth turned down, but too much, like he was trying to hide a smile more than frown outright. “I have your back. By which I mean, I’ll fetch the bucket so we can pour you into bed after.”

-

Wherever Damen had fallen last night was fortuitously cozy, in the way that only happened from having blankets and another person snug against you all night. He breathed in, filling his nose with the slept-in smell of clean sweat, lingering alcohol, and the familiar shampoo on the nape of the neck in front of him.

Without opening his eyes, Damen rolled towards that warmth. He found and buried his face in the welcome darkness between a pillow and shoulder. It blocked sunlight from the window but provoked a full-body stretch from the other body, cracking every bone in the back pressed to Damen’s chest.

“I think we can call last night a success,” said Damen.

“I think you’re right,” said Auguste with more pleased sleepy murmurings. Sleep-tousled blond hair tickled Damen’s nose. “Now to lead our pledges on their first house-cleaning campaign.”

It didn’t sound like a single person in the fraternity house was awake and moving yet. The morning after the new pledge social tended to be somewhat lax before the real discipline kicked in, and the brothers traditionally led the first cleaning charge to set an example.

Damen slung his arm out, intentionally heavy. All things considered, his head felt fine. Govart was as horrible at real competition as ever. At a knock on the door, Auguste cleared his throat and asked them to come in. Damen found the dark place under Auguste’s neck again but looked up when he thought he knew the voice.

“Auguste, we’re ready to start if you—”

Laurent stood in the doorway, and he stopped when he saw Damen pretzeled around his older brother on the bed.

With yellow hair and a lither build than Auguste, but something still alike in the face and eyes, Damen felt as though he knew Laurent better than he’d known Auguste a couple years earlier. Auguste’s anecdotes if nothing else, and certainly more than press clippings. Laurent was immaculate, not a hair out of place. Damen tried to recall if he had even seen him at the party.

The air in the room noticeably cooled. Laurent didn’t continue.  

“Thanks, Laurent,” Auguste said in the quiet. “We’ll just be a moment.”

Even the sound of the door closing was chilly.

“No offense,” said Damen, “but I’m starting to think being assigned your brother as my little was one of the worst things to happen to either of us.”

-

Damen’s world, the part that consisted of school and the fraternity, spun on a new axis with Auguste. They spent enough time together that having Auguste as his big brother during initiation was an inconspicuous side note to everything else. And after initiation there were the late nights studying in the library, pushing each other through stacks of flashcards, then the early mornings training out on the cold soccer field, practicing passes and goals and returning to the house smudged with dirt and grass stains and bruises to collapse onto the nearest soft surface together. More than once Damen woke to some involved arrangement of limbs, supplied from Auguste and the other athletes from the team, run to exhaustion and napping together more or less in a pile. Quiet as the mornings after the party, and with about as much groaning once everyone woke and made it to the kitchen. It was soothing in a way.

They shared a surprising number of classes, as they both followed the same business track. Damen and Auguste’s wine and philosophy nights became a ritual on accident, and then a tradition on purpose.

It was exceedingly obvious when Auguste started disappearing.

After the toga party, Damen had started to notice Auguste’s absences and late arrivals. At first he assumed health center visits or office hours. They typically rose around the same time for practice. Then the nights started getting longer. A class was missed.

It wasn’t as though Damen hadn’t expected it, deep down; if Laurent was a gentle tap on the shoulder to remind Damen that friendship between their families was an irregularity at best, the thought that Auguste was slowly transitioning back to the corporate world was a kick in the ribs. Whatever they had, it couldn’t last as it was. Damen knew that.

“You weren’t at practice today,” Damen finally said, one evening in October. Auguste sat beside him on the couch and picked up a controller.

“Coach should have a note,” said Auguste.

Player two joined. “You’ve been busy,” said Damen. He shifted on the couch. “There were some class notes that weren’t in the test bank you can copy if you want.” There was a long pause. “Business?” he asked casually.

“No, it’s not that.”

The weight over his chest was replaced by curiosity. “Really? What then, a secret girlfriend?”

It was Auguste’s turn to fidget. “I wouldn’t say it was… well, there is a girl there, but—” Auguste’s shoulders slumped and he paused the game.

“Come with me,” he said, and Damen stopped smirking. “You can come and I can show you. Tonight.”

Damen eyed him. “Is it illicit?”

The ensuing pause was less than comforting. 

“Not usually,” said Auguste.

-

Auguste led him to a building on campus and in through a side door. It was pitch black inside, and Auguste reached back and held Damen’s hand to lead him through. Irregular structures lined the walls, lit partially by intermittent exit signs. The air had a stale taste to it, like attics, chalk, and old art projects.

“I didn’t even know this building existed,” said Damen. Auguste opened another door in front of them and the air changed. It felt like a much larger space in front of him.

“Stay here,” Auguste said and his hand slipped out of Damen’s. Footsteps echoed away into the dark. “I’m turning on the lights.”

One by one, the spotlights revealed a black stage.

Then a small theater.

Auguste walked back through stage-to-ceiling dusty black velvet curtains, a pleased look on his face.

Damen took it in. He craned his neck, turning to see the whole space. “This is not what I expected.”

“It isn’t as though I sit here by myself in the dark,” said Auguste. “I’ve been working with the theater troupe. Taking classes. The playhouse is in the red with their finances and I’ve been doing what I can to help them with fundraising. The student director has some photoshoots lined up that should help immensely.”

“None of that makes it less strange,” said Damen. He didn’t disapprove, but it was all very strange. He hadn’t been prepared to suddenly step into a world where Auguste de Vere spent his free time slumming it in the theater department. Not that meeting his younger brother hadn’t set a new precedent for oddness.

Damen stopped swiveling on his heels. He centered on Auguste’s face. “How long have you been coming here?”

“Since January. Most of a year, now.” Auguste looked proudly over the room. “I didn’t think it would turn into this. I love it, Damen. Working for the company was all there was for my entire life. But it was never—I suppose I always had a choice, any choice I wanted.”  He took a breath. Damen waited; they almost never discussed their corporate lives. “It never once occurred to me to choose something else.”  

The unspoken hung in the space between them as they gazed out toward the empty seats. _I want to choose this._

And then Damen was watching Auguste, feeling it deeply that being shown this was an act of intimacy. Giving Damen this part of himself was more revealing of Auguste’s inner self than their one and only kiss, an experiment alone in Auguste’s room one spring that set off sparks in Damen’s head and threatened to ignite a real crush if he wasn’t careful. It only seemed to confirm Auguste’s attraction to girls. _I haven’t awakened something devastating in you, have I?_ Auguste had said, and they had joked and laughed about it after.

Neither of them was laughing now. Damen’s world tilted again.

They were almost back to the fraternity house when he said, “You haven’t told anyone.”

“No,” said Auguste. Quiet.

“Why?”

“You know why. I might have to quit the team. They’ll be displeased enough about that without considering what happens after graduation.”

And then they were once again back on the couch with a wine bottle Auguste had retrieved, wrapped in the comfort of their weekly custom.

“I have your back,” Damen said to the question in Auguste’s face. “By which I mean, I’ll always have your back.” He slid into the cushions until their arms pressed together. “Your family dislikes me on principle. What will happen if I help cover for you, I’ll be hated even more?”

Why, when he said _your family_ , did he find himself thinking _Laurent_.

Auguste’s chuckle warmed Damen through. “I’ll tell them,” he said as he passed the wine.  “Soon. Thank you for everything.”

Damen ignored the flipping sensation in his stomach. “Everything?”

“Those plays you took me to last year,” said Auguste. “The copy of _Lysistrata_. Suffice to say I enjoyed them. Not to mention the epic poetry you know by heart. It sent a shiver up my spine to hear it.”

Damen frowned. He offered the wine back. “When did I recite poetry to you? I don’t remember that.”

“You may have been inebriated at the time,” said Auguste innocently. “Still, wonderful recitation. Very moving.” He pushed on his knees, hand dramatically outstretched:

“ _Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleusussus’ son Achil—Achil…Achillifuckit, something, all the dying, he was a total asshole, and… birds_ —”

“I’m never speaking to you again,” said Damen fondly, pushing Auguste over.

“I don’t know what to tell Laurent,” Auguste said when they stopped laughing. It was the first bit of real guilt in him. Perhaps not surprising, Damen thought in a moment of cold foresight, given what could happen to Vere’s corporate hierarchy if Auguste pulled out entirely. Despite Auguste’s enthusiasm, Damen couldn’t really imagine it yet.

It could even be in his best interests to keep anyone at Vere from knowing until the last moment.

Damen took a deep breath. “However you do it, you should at least tell Laurent,” he said. “He’s your brother. Brothers should be honest with each other.”

Auguste frowned at Damen, considering him in a way he didn’t very often. “Always good advice from you,” he said eventually. “I would appreciate your help in the meantime. Laurent can smell a lie across international borders.”

-

As it turned out, Laurent could only sniff out _most_ lies. Or possibly only across certain borders.

Nevertheless it was a terrifying bit of intel, as Laurent accompanied the two of them to the charity modeling gig Auguste landed through his theatre contacts. They had set up a studio on the stage, and even so the theater was cramped, full of artsy professionals or professionals-in-training, bustling around with makeup and props and cameras. Damen had posed for a GQ shoot a while back, and the difference in mood in comparison was welcome. Hosting Auguste, Damen, and Laurent seemed to inspire a lively atmosphere.

“Why am I here,” Laurent stated.

Damen was highly aware of Laurent standing next to him. Laurent stood rooted in the midst of the commotion, looking over the proceedings with cool indifference.

“Because,” said Damen, “you’re my little and this is community involvement, plus you’re Auguste’s biological little and I thought you’d want to support him.”

The look Laurent gave him clearly indicated that he knew Damen had fabricated the lie on the spot.

It was mostly for cover. Until Auguste told Laurent himself, Damen would help keep Auguste’s theater involvement hushed. Bringing Laurent to the shoot showed him there was nothing to hide—at least, that was the idea. It might even warm him to the idea of Auguste in this world. Damen was beginning to doubt that logic on all fronts.

Having him there didn’t stop Damen from staring appreciatively where the cameras pointed, however. Auguste was bared to the waist and moving as the photographer threw out ideas. He looked like art already, a god in marble, something divine chiseled to perfection. The cameras clicked excitedly as he raised his arm and ran his fingers through his dark gold hair.

It took Damen a moment to notice Laurent staring at him.

As far as Laurent knew it was only charity event, Damen reminded himself. “He’s getting some good shots, isn’t he?” said Damen.

“Are you fucking my brother?” said Laurent.

The air in Damen’s lungs burned away and then there was no air at all. “No! No, I’m—”

“The other way around? No?” Laurent appeared to consider that. “How long have you been in love with him?”

Damen gaped. “I’m not—in love with him. Laurent. I’m not.”

He shut his mouth. Laurent was being intentionally quiet, letting Damen fill the silence with flustered garbage.

Laurent examined him from the corner of his eye. There was no escaping it, not without sprinting for the nearest exit.

“It’s in your face,” Laurent said. “Anyone around him longer than an hour has the look. Because he’s Auguste.” Damen was startled by Laurent’s expression, verging on human. “Look.”

A few other actors were posing for the shoot, but the camera loved Auguste most of all. It did not seem like anyone begrudged him for it, either. The models grouped around him, chatting freely as they went back to get their makeup redone.

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Damen. He leaned toward Laurent, forcing himself to sound neutral. “Why don't you do photoshoots like this? That makeup artist a few minutes ago said you had a beautiful face.”

Laurent’s eyes widened briefly before straightening into a long, cool look, as though he were considering how to get away with murdering Damen with an ice pick.

They stared at each other until a loud crash rang through the theater, accompanied by gasps.

Both of them snapped to the source of the noise. Across the stage a group of actors and photographers crowded over something on the ground.

“No, no, I’m fine,” he heard Auguste say, and Damen could hear the wince before he even saw what had happened. “Really, please, ”

Laurent right beside him, Damen moved through the crowd to see a section of the runway collapsed and Auguste on the floor. One of the upperclassmen theater majors was kneeling by his side, with looks passing between them that made Damen wonder if this was the girl Auguste had mentioned in passing before showing Damen his secret.

Damen moved to Laurent’s pushing, letting him go to his brother’s side. Auguste winced when he moved, inspiring a fresh bought of fussing from everyone gathered. Strangely, Auguste seemed perfectly content, clearly happy as he sat on the stage, surrounded by the rest of the troupe and clearly where he wanted to be.

“Really, it’s only a twinge,” said Auguste to Laurent and the theater major’s disbelieving faces. Some onlookers were talking of calling 911. “Damen, tell them I’m fine, we have worse than this at soccer every week—”

—and Damen also noticed Laurent, whose sharp eyes were taking in this crowd of people who all seemed to know Auguste much better than casual acquaintances. 

“I can drive him to the hospital,” said Damen, interrupting the 911 callers as well as whatever conclusion Laurent was working towards. If Auguste’s dream had been a secret, it wasn’t going to stay that way for long.

“Damen,” said Auguste. “I’ve never been better.”

“Good. You’re free to try and stop me, if you like,” said Damen. He helped Auguste to his feet. The pained hiss as Auguste tried applying weight just confirmed the plan. 

He could feel Laurent’s eyes burning a hole in the back of their heads as they limped towards the exit.

-

“You see, I told you it was nothing,” said Auguste, still glowing with that happiness he’d displayed at the theater. He probably didn’t need a room, but with his name the hospital had been happy to provide as they waited for X-rays.“I’m touched at your concern.”

Sitting beside him in a chair, Damen nodded and made a knowing sound. “So that girl who was next to you, was that…”

They both looked up as Laurent entered the room, almost at a run.

“Why is he still here?” Laurent said without looking at Damen. “Are you hurt?”

“Only a sprain,” said Auguste. His eyes flickered over. “Damen’s here because I asked him to stay. I...suppose I need to tell you something.”

Laurent went very still.

Yet another interruption came in the form of a passing nurse. “Family?” she asked, ducking in the room, and both Damen and Laurent turned. Then Laurent whipped around as though ready to strike Damen down for daring to respond.

“I’ll go,” said Damen and rose from the chair.

“Yes, do,” said Laurent.

He didn’t spare Damen a glance as he took the seat beside the bed.

- 

Damen didn’t go far. He sat in the waiting room down the hall from Auguste’s room. Auguste couldn’t be staying for long and he didn’t know how Laurent had arrived. A car might be appreciated, Damen told himself. That’s why he waited.

The ambient hospital noises covered most of the conversation. He heard random bits of sentences, words. “...to get to the company, for one...” caught Damen’s attention. And once Auguste’s voice, “...only one I see him ruining is—” with Lauren’t loud, hasty riposte, “ _Don’t_ —”

Damen looked away when the door opened. It had been quiet inside the room for some time. He realized immediately that hiding his face was the exact wrong thing to do. He tried to rally, staring back into Laurent’s eyes.

“Acting,” said Laurent, stopping in front of Damen’s chair. 

“You’re as surprised as I am,” said Damen.

“I doubt it.” Laurent had impressive control over himself but couldn’t keep the cold fire from his eyes. “You might as well have cut him down and thrown his body in a ditch. That’s how the investors are going to see it. Was it planned?”

“Not by me. I let him borrow a book of plays, but it was all him. I only kept it secret because he asked me and I did, he’s my brother—”

“ _No, he isn’t_.” The words cut the air, and as soon as it happened Laurent retreated back behind his shell of calm. Waiting, maybe seeing if Damen would crack and change his story. “I didn’t really think you were involved,” said Laurent. “It’s unbelievable. Being Auguste is what he's best at, not being everyone else.”

Damen frowned. “You don’t support him?”

“Of course I do,” said Laurent, confused. “I…he clearly wants this, and he’s my brother. I’ll support him whatever he wants to do.”

“Oh,” said Damen after a moment. “Good. I’m glad.”

Laurent’s eyebrows raised. “Magnanimous. I wouldn’t be so relieved if I were you.”

Damen stood, stretched. He knew it made him look bigger, more impressive. Laurent didn’t so much as blink. “And why is that?” said Damen.

“For some reason, he likes you,” said Laurent mildly. “I don’t.”

Every fiber of Laurent radiated distaste, signaling Damen to leave, that he wasn’t welcome. Damen shook his head and stepped around him to return to Auguste’s room. The back of his neck almost felt cold.

Auguste looked up as he entered. “That went better than anticipated.”

Damen sat on the bed. “Yeah.”

“I’m so glad both of you are here,” said Auguste. He nodded to himself, smiling faintly. “I think the two of you are getting along very well.”

 

* * *

 

When Auguste described his brother, it always conjured images of a kind, thoughtful young man who enjoyed academics and puzzles. The younger de Vere seemed aloof in photographs but Damen was willing to believe it was merely a shyness of cameras. Auguste adored him.

Then Damen met the real Laurent.

He had probably received the same talk with his PR consults as Damen had. Any friendship between Damen and Auguste failed to extend to anyone else in their families. Laurent learning about Auguste’s choice was actually one of the most welcome developments of the school year for Damen—one complication Damen didn’t have to deal with in a nightmare of complications, all involving Laurent. Preparing for senior year, extracurriculars, prank week and other important fraternity duties, as well as outside work for the company since Damen’s father had fallen ill, and then educating Laurent on top of everything else as his frat big brother was taking its toll.  Laurent was one more thing to worry about while covering Auguste’s clandestine visits to the theater department.  

For his part, Laurent took the news of his house big brother assignment about as well as Damen had, albeit more restrained. The reaction came later, over time, in all the ways Laurent excelled at getting under Damen’s armor of patience. If Laurent was kind and thoughtful it was like a pit viper readying itself to strike and kill quickly, and that was when he wasn’t actively channeling a rude sailor.

Early in the year, when Auguste was still attending practice, Damen had invited Laurent to kick the ball around for a while once when Laurent came to meet Auguste after practice. He’d been treated to a particularly icy kind of aloofness at the offer—at least it felt that way with Laurent perched on the last step of the bleachers, keeping his couple inches on Damen.

On the field, Laurent was faster than expected, surprisingly adept at stealing the ball out from under him. The slippery turf didn’t help matters.

“Tired?” Laurent said after his third goal. Damen had scored as well, though not going out of his way to utterly destroy Laurent. Part of him prickled in annoyance when Laurent added, “You looked faster from the bleachers.”

 _What was taking Auguste so long in the locker room?_ “Your mistake,” said Damen, using more of his weight to block Laurent and retake control of the ball. He was about to try for a sprint to the goal when he spotted Auguste on the sidelines with a few others, peering out over the turf. “It’s not all about speed. I think Auguste is ready, why don’t we go meet him together?” Damen, on the playful side of driven, took Laurent’s arm and hoisted him over a shoulder.

In hindsight, picking Laurent off the ground was as dire a mistake as Damen could have made.

Laurent’s shocked stillness was followed by claws digging into Damen’s shoulders, his body thrashing like a wet cat.

“Easy!” Damen didn’t want to drop him. Across the field Auguste had covered his face, shoulders shaking with amusement. Laurent moved—Damen felt it on the back of his head as Laurent’s muscles flexed at once—and Damen found himself flat on his back at the end of it, grappling for his dignity. As soon as he pried Laurent off, Laurent countered—fun in an odd way, absurd, with Damen out of breath nearly laughing as they disengaged and entangled again. Damen was stronger, and larger, and it did nothing to assist him as Laurent trapped him on his back, prying an arm at a strange angle.

“Attached, that’s attached,” Damen hissed as Laurent torqued up the shoulder. He went limp, stopped trying to push Laurent off his chest. One of Laurent’s shoes was clutched in his hand.

“For how long, though?” said Laurent, with all the excitement of a casual bystander.

“Get a room,” someone shouted across the field.

The pressure on Damen’s arm let up, along with the weight sitting on him. Damen pushed onto his elbows, watching Laurent flick some grass off his leg. “Forgetting something?”

“So I am.” Laurent tossed him the other shoe. “I expect them washed.”

Laurent walked away barefooted, head high, as though the ground wouldn’t dare harm his feet. Damen was too surprised to respond from having shoes thrown on him by a de Vere, and a freshman pledge besides.

Auguste trotted over, shaking his head. “Are you hungover or in love?” he cooed, angling his phone at the ground.

Damen smelt the shoes and grimaced. “What are you talking about?” He accepted the hand up and held the shoes at arm’s length. “Tell me none of that is going online.”

“It’s going on the fridge at the very least. I know Laurent is fine at kicking a ball, but not good enough to beat you. Not by that much. And I know for a fact you’re better at hand-to-hand roughhousing than that.”

“Well, obviously I didn’t want to embarrass my little in front of everyone,” said Damen.

Auguste made a show of checking around the field, the essentially bare sidelines. “I knew it was a good idea to pair you together.”

“Yes. Everything is your fault. Thank you.”

“It’s not so bad, is it? He’s charming, you’re charming. And you know what’s worse than having Laurent pin you down and twist your arm twice around your ears? Nepotism.”

Damen glared as the smiling Auguste ran to catch up to Laurent.

-

But extended alone time with Laurent was by far the worst, although the beauty of putting in his hours with Laurent at the library was not having to talk.

It was honestly good for Damen, as well. He blinked at his textbook, realizing after he hadn’t turned the page in around ten minutes.

He sat back from the table. It pained him to be the first to speak. “I’ll give you a hand with literature if you help me with logic.”

Laurent continued to type furiously on his laptop. “I’m not using the test bank.”

“Fine. I still know what Jeong likes in a term paper.”

He was spared the rest of an failing excuse when Laurent’s phone buzzed on the table. Laurent glanced at the screen and started to pack up his things. “Beta Alpha. I’ll leave you to it.”

Damen closed his eyes for a long moment. “I’m not doing your assignment for you and why does a sorority have you on speed dial?”

“The essay is done. And reaching out to other chapters was your idea.”

“Well. Yes, but.” Damen grasped at facts. Laurent didn’t need a big. Laurent needed a high security cell or a zoo keeper, someone to keep him away from political landscapes and mentos supplies. We had that conversation this morning. _Hours_ ago. You picked the volleyball girls?”

“Beta has a strong athletics tradition. Problem?”

It wasn’t the sorority, it was Laurent. Damen was learning never to take him at face value. When he tasked Laurent with decorating the chapter for Halloween, it had been finished in two hours. The entire three-story house, inside and out. No amount of Damen being impressed at that level of competency would lessen how maddening it was not knowing how he had pulled it off. Or the air of smugness Damen had to breathe in when Laurent returned to let him know it was done.

“No problem here,” said Damen.

-

“You have the face.” Auguste delivered the prognosis hours later, after Damen had given up on homework. There was a cheerful glint in Auguste’s eyes, though maybe it was because the theater had just received a final donation large enough to finance themselves. No more collapsing runways. “Anyone around Laurent longer than an hour gets the look. He has an intricate inner monologue,” Auguste assured him.

It was worth it when they got the photographs from the charity shoot. The spread happened to arrive at the same time as the issue of GQ, featuring the Forbes Top 10 photoshoot of Damen looking a noble and rugged heir under a large gold watch and a gallon of hair product. He and Auguste laughed themselves silly at everything, curling over each other on the couch.

Damen caught Laurent examining the issue of GQ the next day, flipping through parts of the magazine, increasingly irritated and mad at every page, as though it was slighting him personally.

-

For a while, things were going well. Damen didn’t know what he expected. 

Govart must have waited weeks for one of the few times Damen and Laurent walked back to the house together. He blocked their path, strewing dead leaves everywhere.

“Your little’s been busy,” he said in a low voice.

“Probably,” said Damen. “You need something?”

That response wasn’t to Govart’s taste. “Your family know what he’s been up to with your brother?”

“Assisting with his theater class,” said Laurent. “The play opens in two days. What of it?”

Damen had assumed Laurent was still the only one who knew. Nonetheless, the conversation was clearly not going as Govart wanted. He seemed to have run out of pre-generated topics to fish for reactions and turned instead to speaking rudely of Damen’s honor in French. Pretending not to understand was the best way to deny Govart satisfaction, but—

“Not at all,” said Laurent, refusing to reply in the same language. “I knew he was trouble when he walked in.”

“Shame on me,” said Damen, feeling a thrill at facing Govart together.

Govart snorted and stalked off.

Damen sighed. “Someone’s eager to start prank week with some drama. Not to worry. I’ve been working on a house procedure all semester.”

“You’re worried?” Laurent took a sip of the very expensive coffee in his hand. “I’m surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet getting in our way.”

It was only a matter of time before things went wrong again. Damen didn’t know what he expected. It was certainly more than two days.

-

“When does the play start?” said Damen.

“Eight,” Laurent answered. They walked briskly to the house to change and grab heavier coats. It hadn’t been planned to meet at the same florist at the same time, picking up something for Auguste’s opening show. Now both of them carried flowers.

They didn’t even make it to the front porch before the first water balloon flew across their path, missing by a hair. Only it wasn’t filled with water. It popped on the sidewalk, covering the concrete with a phosphorescent explosion. A rancid smell hit a second later.

“Down,” said Damen, frat instincts kicking in before Laurent’s. He pushed Laurent into the bushes as the whooping cries began rising from beyond the streetlamps.  “Down. Move. Damn it, we don’t have time for this.”

“Glow-in-the-dark glitter,” said Laurent, deadpan. A balloon fell near them, popping on a tree. The rank smell intensified. “And… eggs. They truly mean to break our spirit.”

“You want to smell like that for a week?” Damen hissed at him. “One hit and they’ll be able to see and aim for us anywhere we run. If this is Govart, that’s something we want to avoid. Where are you going?”

“I would have the house watched if I were them,” said Laurent, moving through cover toward the rest of Greek row. “Do what you want. I have somewhere to be.”

The urge to leave Laurent to his fate was strong but brief. Swearing under his breath, Damen followed him into the dark. They avoided the street and stuck to climbing fences through backyards when they ran out of brush.

“I feel like I should mention we’re moving away from the house and the theater,” said Damen from behind a large oak. The sounds of running and Govart’s brothers calling out to each other were closing in around them. “Maybe you should use the family talent and act your way out of this.”

“Maybe.”

“Did you actually have a plan or—Laurent!”

He dashed to catch up as Laurent made for the street and one house in particular. Damen’s eyes widened at the large Greek BA over the front of the building. Laurent was already at the door, pounding on it. Two bulky shapes had spotted them down the street and turned for them just as a girl around Laurent’s age answered the door. Her sweatshirt proclaimed her school name and volleyball allegiance.

Her eyes passed over Damen before landing on Laurent. “Hey, Laurent. What’s up?”  

Laurent moved into the light thrown from the door, voice level even while two members of Rho house were running towards them. “Hello, Kashel. Is Halvik there?”

“Sure, she’s upstairs,” said Kashel, as though this was an entirely expected and normal interaction. “Come in.”

A splat of a rancid glitter bomb hit the back of the door after they closed it.

Damen let out the breath he had been holding. They followed Kashel, holding somewhat crushed flowers and looking exactly as though they had been climbing fences and crawling through bushes for the past five minutes. An older girl with dark, flinty eyes met them in the living room, looking exactly as though she could spike a man’s head into the court and have it explode exactly how she wanted.

“What kind of pig starts prank week on Saturday,” she said. “Half the street is out of town on away games. Fetch the eggs from the backyard, the glitter, and ready all of the plastic forks,” she ordered a third sorority sister, who disappeared into the house.

“Good evening, Halvik,” said Laurent. “We should talk more in the morning. Tonight I have Auguste’s play to attend. We’re running late, if you have a back door.”

“We do, but the streets are swarming with howling frat boys,” said Halvik, considering the two of them. “I assume they aren’t yours.”

Damen remained silent. The web he was being led through was coming sharply into focus, compounded with the sudden severe awareness that they were following Laurent’s particular system for prank week rather than Damen’s. The girl who answered the door, Kashel, had been expecting Laurent, if perhaps a few days too early.

“I’ll go first,” he said and Laurent and Halvik turned to him. “I can outrun most of them, lead them away from the house. You can sneak out after.”

He held up his flowers, offering them for safekeeping.

For a long moment, Laurent looked at him without speaking.

“We’ll meet at the playhouse,” he said, accepting the bouquet. The sisters showed him into the house to find something dark for him to wear on his head to help blend in.

-

He gained and lost chasers through brush and yards. Then, on the third corner from Beta Alpha, Damen turned and nearly ran headlong into Govart.

He dodged before he could be caught in a hold, jumping back several feet to Govart’s rude laughter.

“There you are,” he said, a glitter balloon in one hand and a bunch of rags in the other. A faint stench wafted around him. He threw the cloth on the ground. “Haven’t caught that stone-cold little kid yet but when we do he’ll be wanting these.”

They were Laurent’s clothes. A few of the crumpled bouquet flowers were bundled with them. “Govart, what the hell—” Damen immediately hated himself, for leaving, for not having a better plan. And for knowing that he was going back for him.

“A friend of mine was nice enough to toss these out a back window. Heard he might have climbed over to the sorority next door trying to get away.” They glared at each other, Damen’s eyes watching Govart’s face and his hand, hefting the balloon.

Damen slowly peeled his jacket from his shoulders, staring Govart down.

“Someone called campus police,” Govart moved the glitter bomb to his other hand, readying to throw. “Picked up for streaking, what a shame that would be. Feel like dancing tonight?”

He didn’t give Damen a chance to reply before throwing the balloon as hard as he could. Damen braced, opened his coat, and caught the balloon in it like a perfect net. Govart’s alarm, while short lived, was still long enough for Damen to reach in and throw it back.

Damen’s aim was true; the glitter bomb popped against Govart’s face. The swears probably carried for miles. Damen had time to scoop up a flower before Govart cleared his face or reinforcements could arrive.

He ran without thinking back toward the sorority, panting his own curses under his breath. It never once occurred to him to choose something else.

At a full sprint, he was winded by the time he came to the house, his breath freezing in clouds in front of his face. Glitter and confetti littered the road. One lawn was stuck full of white forks like the head of a hairbrush. Damen pounded heavily on the door, hoping for Halvik,  Kashel, anyone. Where would Laurent go if not stay here? Damen could only guess at what that strange mind might come up with. If he stayed in the house or made it to the theater, Damen wouldn’t worry. If Laurent had tried to run…

Damen jumped the porch railing and followed the side of the house, searching for the fire escape. He found it on the east side, above a driveway to a small parking lot behind the houses. Sure enough the escape of the adjacent sorority faced Beta Alpha’s. Laurent would have had no problem crossing over if he had to.

With a good jump, Damen had made it to the second icy rung of the neighboring sorority when the red and blue lights flashed at him down the driveway.

Damen groaned and released the ladder.

-

The campus police station wasn’t such a bad place to spend a few hours, Damen decided.

The holding cell was like a waiting room. Heated, relatively quiet. A muted television in the corner played infomercials. A small crowd of other active members joined him, but the atmosphere wasn’t unfriendly so much as resigned. Another prank week. The community labor hours generally were just enough to cover cleaning the streets again.

He wasn’t expecting it when the officer who picked him up came to retrieve him. “You’re being picked up on a promise of good behavior,” Damen was told sternly, and he was shown out into another room.

Laurent, in formal wear and a fitted wool coat, waited for him as he came out.

“Come on,” said Laurent before Damen could cease gaping. He followed Laurent outside without a word.

It had started to snow. Soft flakes drifted from the sky at a leisurely pace, unhurried by wind. Laurent walked a few steps ahead of him. There was a large bag slung over his shoulder, and he stopped at the sidewalk with his arms folded.

“Well?” said Laurent as Damen drew up beside him.

“I—thank you?” said Damen. “How...”

Laurent made of sound of weariness. “A taxi. We have a production to attend and it will be faster than calling a car.”

“A taxi,” Damen repeated. He leaned toward the road, raising his arm to hail a driver. The evening was taking on an unreal quality, like he was moving through a trance. Laurent dressed in formal evening attire, escaping the sorority as though by magic, and coming to bear Damen away to freedom. It verged on dashing. Damen probably wasn’t expressing his gratitude and faint awe correctly when he said, “You can post bail but can’t hail a cab on your own? Is—is that a dress in your bag? That’s how you got away, you were wearing that?”

“Even if there had been a set bail, trading on the side is one of my pastimes,” said Laurent, as though that answered everything. “Independently from the company, of course, and it means I have funds separate from my family. Besides, it was only the campus police. You weren’t exactly high priority.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. “The stock market is your hobby?”

“Yes,” said Laurent. He frowned. “Is the upper fraternity brain cell being used by someone else this evening?”

Damen opened his mouth and closed it again. Laurent matched his gaze, neither of them turning away even as a taxi pulled to the curb. Snowflakes dotted Laurent’s coat, and a few had caught in his hair. Something warm moved in Damen’s chest, a slow dawning, a realization beginning to fit together.

“Give to charities often?” he said. “Community projects, theater troupes in need, anything like that?”

“Whatever do you mean,” said Laurent. He pulled two tickets from the inside of his coat. “Fortunately for us I put these somewhere safe. Seats 9G and 9H.”

“I’m sure they were just the random two Auguste was given,” said Damen, imagining sitting beside Laurent in a dark theater. Sharing an armrest. Auguste wouldn’t have gone out of his way just to sit them next to each other…probably.

“Hm,” was all Laurent said.

Damen tried not to smile. “You could have left me until morning.”

“You could have not gone back for me.”

Damen reached for the door and held it open for Laurent. With his other hand, he offered the last flower, worse for wear but still beautiful. Laurent blinked at both and gave Damen one of his considering looks. Slowly he took the flower, much as he had in the sorority living room.

“He would want you to be there,” said Laurent. He steadied his hand just beside Damen’s and slid into the back seat.  “Get in. We have a play to catch.”

 

 


	2. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I haven’t awakened something devastating in you, have I?” 
> 
> Extra scene. Damen and Auguste's one and only experimental college kiss.

It had only happened once.

Years before Auguste showed him the theater, Damen had returned to the house early, some terrifying hour in the morning that was closer to dawn than midnight. He made it a personal rule not to think of them as walks of shame. It was more contemplative than disgraceful.

Damen wandered upstairs, pausing as he passed Auguste’s open door. Auguste was sitting on his bed reading, and leaned over to see who had stopped in the hall.

“Couldn’t sleep?” said Auguste when he saw who it was.

Damen turned from the hallway—slowly. “No. It didn’t work out. Seemed awkward to stay the night.” He shut the door behind him and sat next to Auguste, head tipping back against the wall.  “What about you?”

“Couldn’t sleep, either. I haven’t noticed you staying out lately,” said Auguste with a bit of a knowing grin. He sat up and closed his book. “Was it those two girls?”

“Just the one,” said Damen. “She was nice about it but I’m sure she didn’t want me hanging around.”

The mood was elusive. It was too quiet, the morning too still. They spoke softly to the empty room. Only the bedside lamp was on. The dark and the silence made it safe.

“I’m a bit surprised,” said Auguste. “The last few were from other frats, weren’t they? I thought…”

Damen shrugged. “Either. Both. I didn’t know anyone was keeping score.”

Auguste held his hands up. “Not me. Curiosity aside, I’ve only enjoyed the company of ladies, that’s all.”

Curiosity. The word buzzed inside Damen’s head. “You should try it sometime,” he said, and it was like hearing himself from a distance. “It’s different. Less soft. I would recommend it, at least once. Like when I had you try that octopus ink sack dish you thought was strange.”

“That’s a terrible endorsement,” Auguste laughed.

“But kissing men won’t turn your teeth black. See? It’s already more to your tastes.”

The pause in conversation lifted the comedic veil they had been using for cover. For Auguste, after years in the fraternity together, Damen felt deep trust and love but in the...fraternal sense. He had a thing for blonds but with Auguste it had always been a vague attraction, like towards a celebrity. Completely abstract.

This was different. He wasn’t prepared for this. He didn’t dare make the first move. Now that the thought was in him, he couldn’t see anything else.

“Well, if you promise my tongue won’t be dyed for a week,” said Auguste, expression soft and easily catching Damen’s gaze, “do you mind if I try with you?”

And Damen loved the humor in his voice, how Auguste was watching him before his eyes closed, not holding himself at a distance but touching strong fingers along Damen’s jaw.

Their mouths met and it was as though Damen were experiencing vertigo when he felt Auguste breathe out and part his lips. Damen brought his hand to the side of Auguste’s neck, bracing. There was no question of one of them pushing ahead or giving up ground. They let each other in.

He wasn’t so tired or desperate or swept away in it that he didn’t know what this was. What it could mean. This was dangerous. The ever-present choir of PR experts lead by Damen’s father in the back of Damen’s mind was shocked into silence. Kissing the Vere heir on his bed in the early hours, with the unexpected revelation that Damen would like to continue doing it as much as possible. That if it worked perhaps he could put his mouth on Auguste’s neck and kiss him, he could hold his hips and kiss his collarbones, the corner of his jaw.

As though tasting his intent, Auguste’s fingers touched Damen’s shoulder, and the hand drew a warm path across his chest. It wasn’t in Damen’s nature to stifle his enjoyment, and even the small noise against Auguste’s mouth was loud in the silence of the house. That touch cut through every defense, right to the center of him. That hand had slid down his spine the first time they met, when Auguste had pressed them together and whispered  _Welcome_ in his ear.

They kissed. The palm stayed on Damen’s chest. When he felt a light pressure, Damen went with it. Auguste had the last word, a small peck on his lips as they separated.

Damen’s breathing was too heated, flushed. He couldn’t do himself the disservice of pretending it was a lingering reaction to the aborted encounter earlier in the evening.

He also couldn’t help the disappointment that Auguste was mostly unaffected, only looking somewhat thoughtful. At least he hadn’t pulled back entirely, and he didn’t look put off. One hand lingered on Damen’s arm.

“Not feeling it, I think,” said Auguste. His voice was quiet, intimate. Damen’s heart resumed its unnecessary pounding. “Great kiss though. One of the better ones I’ve had.”

His hand dropped from Damen’s arm.

Then he stuck his tongue out. “No ink,” Damen confirmed with a short exhale, not quite a laugh as he understood what Auguste meant. That tongue had been inside his own mouth a few moments before. 

Auguste’s lips turned up at one corner in a small smile. Being studied by him wasn’t the lacerating experience it would be with Laurent, though there was a glimmer of it there now that Damen would one day associate with the younger brother.

“Are we cool about this?” said Auguste. His voice lowered and he waggled his eyebrows. “I haven’t awakened something devastating in you, have I?”

Damen glanced at him and his ridiculous face. This time Damen did laugh, giving Auguste a shove for good measure.

“Yes, we’re cool.”


End file.
